So here's the way. I discovered it quite accidentally. I was in my favorite coffee shop, Peets, and was needing to "empty" after drinking a tall glass of mint iced tea. (No caffeine for me. BAD idea.) So I go in the bathroom. I have on black stretchy pants (of course), and they are very flowing and come down low. They are lower than usual because the drawstring fell out, and I am not fat now that I don't eat sugar. Further, I am wearing my Converse. These are the only shoes I seem to wear other than Uggs or thongs.
The Converse have very little heels so this also causes the pants to drag. The moment I enter, my eyes scan like a laser. I am instantly on guard for pee speckles on the floor, and all sorts of potential germy solutions that I cannot see for certain, but know for certain, exist. It is a feat of strength, coordination, AND of the pelvic floor, what I need to do in order to not dip the wick, or rather, the ends of my pants in pee juice.
I yank them up as high as possible by pulling my pubic bone up to my belly (just what I tell people to do in class). Meanwhile, I am also pulling the pants down at the same time to go, using my hands to continue reaching for the cuffs of my pants. I try to pull the pant cuffs all the way up and tuck them into the waistband in order to keep them from falling. I have gone to a bathroom before with the sagging flowing pants and emerged after feeling the disquieting wetness of fabric against my legs. And it was not there before. This leads me to start adding up all the ingredients seasonally available in each john I enter: all things starting with "p." Maybe not the substance perhaps, but even the thought of the essence is enough to make me fervently hike up my pants.
This may seem ridiculous to you or perhaps a bit OCD that I am concerned about these germs, but this is not unlikely. ESPECIALLY in a place where the bathrooms are unisex. People tend to dribble and make messes when it is not their own home. All you have to do to test this theory out is to notice locker rooms in gyms. People whip their towels on the floor, leave splashy messes and lotions and all kinds of gunk all over the place. So really...If you want to believe there is still a toothfairy, then you may ALSO believe that the pee stays just where it belongs--in the nicely designated porcelain well. And pigs fly. And no one inhales.
So after I manage to yank the ends of my pants up, stuff them in the top of the waistband, jamming my chin in to my chest to "hold" everything in place (stomach still getting a workout), then there is a new issue. That of the toilet. I am not sitting on that. It is not a "long stay"--just a fluid release. So now I squat, because LORD KNOWS WHAT IS ON THAT TOILET SEAT. That is simply unthinkable. All the germs throwing raves, creating havoc, and assimilating with each other in one loving family. In order to do this squatting, I have to further draw the belly in, and do a nice pelvic tilt forward so I can aim without missing. Otherwise, the straps on my backpack, which is on my back, (I don't want to set it down on the floor. My backpack is like my stuffed animal.) will end up dipping in the toilet. Then I will have to snip that part off. And I also do not want to miss with my aim. That is always unfortunate, if you have ever "missed" and gotten yourself. I have done this. My germs at least, but still not enjoyable as say, eating pizza or playing Scrabble.
So now I am maneuvering like Russian gymnast with abs of steel. I aim, squeeze the belly in, tilt the pelvis, and clear without a problem. Now comes the next feat. How to move over to the toilet paper metal thing on the wall which is about 4 paces ahead of the toilet. I cannot reach it because if I reach, my pants will fall down and then I will be swimming in the germy sea of pea puddles on the floor. I have to walk, but I cannot walk regularly without still clenching my stomach and jamming my chin down to my chest, because then, the Leaning Tower of Pants will fall down. And I have to hold up the pelvic floor so pea droplets do not escape and cause soggy underwear. This feels infinitely harder than, say, the SAT's. So I hold my stomach in as best I can, and take short stunted steps until I reach it. Now there is a new challenge.
I don't want to touch too much of the toilet paper. More germs. If I grab heartily and fully as I would at home, that means I will have 2, 14, 26 hands which touched God knows what, on me. Bleck. I would rather just sleep with them. Would probably be more sanitary. So now it is a matter of fine motor skills. I look for the very edge of the toilet paper. This is like the razor's edge they talk about in Buddhism. Right in between one place and the other. I am in between air and paper and hunt for the exact middle. I find it, and with the touch of, well, someone who can touch delicately, I take the smallest tug. I pull just enough.
Now for the flourish. Clearly, after this work, I am not going to just rip it-it, being the selected toilet paper square. Then I am once again, sleeping with the 26 people and their mold, gum, coffee, stuff under the nails. So the finesse is now required in that I must exert the exact amount of pressure with my hand sweeping through the air, raising the centimeter of toilet paper I am touching, and then lowering my hand like the guillotine, to perform the "tear." And I do it! The square tears without me having to contact anything other than the centimeter of claimed t.p.
After this, I wipe, and once again, avoid touching anything on myself as well. This requires more dexterity, of touching just the paper, and moving it where it is needed. Now I continue to do my ab exercise of clamping my belly into itself and begin to pull up the pants. Last comes the hand washing. I use my very dextrous elbow, which is covered by a shirt, to pull up the water, pull the lever on the soap and turn it off. The shirt will be washed later. And last, the trash. Please do not tell me after that masterpiece that you would touch anything on the trash receptacle. That is a given no-no. Ick.
And last, I draw my shoulder deep into the joint, as I unlock the door, and then use lovely resistance to push the door open. This is why I don't need to exercise very much anymore.
Maybe all this is very sensible to you. Reasonable, even. But here is the funny part. I do not worry about germs. Ever. Around sick people, on buses, on raw meat, or surfaces, or in the gyms. Only toilets and bathrooms. The mind is a funny place. Funnier even than bathrooms.
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